The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight
by michelleklainequeen
Summary: Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything? This is inspired by the novel of the same name which I highly recommend you read . AU Kurt and Blaine never met at Dalton.
1. Introduction

_**A/N: **This chapter is heavily based on the first chapter of the novel so it sounds very similar but I promise as the story progresses it'll have a lot more differences and whatnot. Also I have no idea when I'll update because I procrastinate a lot, so I apologise in advance, but bear with me because I have big plans for it! Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

There are so many different ways it could've turned out.

Imagine if he hadn't forgotten the book. He wouldn't have had to run back into the house while his mum waited outside with the car running, the engine setting loose a light cloud of exhaust in the late day heat.

Or before that, even: imagine if he hadn't waited until the last minute to look for his suit, only to remember that the last time he wore it he snagged it on a loose nail and it had a big rip in one of the sleeves, his mum wouldn't have had to haul out the sewing machine and attempt to save the poor, wrinkled thing.

Or later: if he hadn't put his tickets at the very bottom of his bag and had to stop and search for them for five minutes, if he hadn't misplaced his tie twice, if there hadn't been so much traffic on the expressway to the airport. If they hadn't turned down the wrong road, or if his mum hadn't had to stop and look up the directions to the airport.

If his suitcase hadn't gotten stuck between some junk in the trunk and he had to spend longer trying to wedge it out.

If he had run just a little bit faster to the gate.

Though maybe it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

Perhaps the days collection of delays is beside the point, and if it hadn't have been one of those things, it would've just been something else: the weather over the Atlantic, rain in London, storm clouds that hovered for slightly too long before getting on with their day. Blaine isn't a big believer in the punctuality of the airline industry either. Who ever heard of a plane leaving on time anyhow?

He never missed a flight before in his life. Not once.

But when he finally reaches the gate this evening, it's to find the attendants sealing the door and shutting down the computers. The clock above them says 6:48, and just beyond the window, the plane sits like a hulking metal fortress; it's clear from the looks on the faces of those around him that nobody else is getting on that thing.

He's four minutes late, which doesn't seem like all that much when you think about it; it's a commercial break, the period between classes, the time it takes to cook a microwave chair. Four minutes is nothing. Every single day, in every single airport, there are people who make their flights at the very last moment, breathing hard as they stow their bags and then slumping into their seats with a sigh of relief as the plane launches itself skyward.

But not Blaine Anderson, who let his backpack slip from his hand as he stands at the window, watching the plane break away from the accordion-like ramp, its wings rotating as it heads towards the runway without him.

Across the ocean his father is making one last toast, and white-gloved hotel staff are polishing the silverware for tomorrow night's celebration. Behind her, the boy with ticket number 18C on the next flight to London is flipping through a Vogue magazine, pretty much oblivious to the world around him.

Blaine closes his eyes, for just a moment, and when she opens them again, the plane is gone.

Who would have guessed that four minutes could change everything?


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yay I finished the chapter! I apologise if there's any mistakes but I'm very tired so if you find any then feel free to message me and I'll fix it. I haven't started the next chapter yet so I have no idea when it'll be up. Anyway, enjoy!  
**

* * *

**6:56 p.m. Eastern Standard Time**

**11:56 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time**

Airports are torture chambers if you're claustrophobic.

It's not just the looming threat of the ride ahead – being stuffed into cramped seats like sardines and then catapulted through the sky in a narrow metal tube – but also the terminals themselves, the press of people, the blur and spin of the place, a dancing, dizzying hum, all motion and noise, all frenzy and clamour, and the whole thing sealed off by glass windows like some sort of ginormous ant farm.

This is just one of the many things that Blaine is trying not to think about as he stands helplessly before the ticket counter. The light outside is starting to fade and his plane is now probably somewhere over the Atlantic, and he takes a few deep, slow breaths to stop from completely freaking out. His stomach flips uncomfortably, partly from the thought of the impending flight and also partly from the airport itself but _mostly _it's the realisation that he'll now be late for the wedding he didn't even want to go to in the first place. Something about this miserable little twist of fate makes him want to pull out his hair and scream.

The gate attendants have gathered on the opposite side of the counter to frown at him with looks of great impatience. The screen behind them has already been switched to announce the next flight to Heathrow, which doesn't leave for more than three hours and it's quickly becoming obvious that Blaine is the only thing standing between them and the end of their shift.

"I'm very sorry," one of them says, barely supressing a sigh of frustration, "There's nothing we can do but try to get you on a later flight."

Blaine sighs and nods reluctantly. He's spent the past few weeks secretly wishing this very thing might happen, though admittedly, his imagined scenarios have been a bit more dramatic: a massive airline strike, an epic hailstorm, an immobilising case of the flu, or maybe the measles, that would prevent him from flying. All perfectly good reasons why he might have to miss his father's trip down the aisle to marry a woman Blaine's never even met.

But being four minutes late for your flight just seems a little too convenient, maybe even a tad suspicious, and Blaine isn't at all sure that his parents – either of them – will understand that it wasn't his fault. In fact, he suspects this might fall on to the very short list of things that they'd actually agree on.

It had been his own idea to skip the rehearsal dinner and arrive in London the morning of the wedding instead. Blaine hadn't seen his father in more than a year and he wasn't sure he could sit in a room full of all the important, new people in his dad's life. He didn't want to have to sit around exchanging pleasantries with his strangers for any longer than he had to and he couldn't just ignore their questions or hide away because that just wasn't how he was raised.

Growing up, Blaine had always been taught to respect his elders and make polite conversation even when he didn't really want to. His grandfather had been a big influence on him as he and Blaine's grandmother where always coming down for a visit. Blaine loved his grandparents dearly but whenever they came over he felt as if he had to put on a charade to gain their approval, well mainly his grandfather's approval. Blaine's grandfather had generously paid for Blaine to go to a private, all-boys school in Westerville so that he could learn how to be a civilised young man and so that he could get the best out of his education. His grandfather hoped that maybe he could become a lawyer or a doctor or some other well-respected member of society so that he could do the Anderson name proud but, much to his grandfather's dismay, Blaine had fallen in love with the theatre and singing and he really had no interest in becoming a lawyer or doctor. Just another thing to add to the list of reasons to be disappointed in him.

Blaine sighed at the thought of his grandfather and the fact that he'd be seeing him at the wedding in less than twenty-four hours and the fact that he'd be in a room full of complete strangers that were somehow a big part of his father's life now. All that hand shaking, memorising names, tedious conversation, and for what? It wasn't like he was going to be sticking around long enough to even process any of this information. No, Blaine planned on spending as little time as possible in this place that his father now called 'home' and with the people he now called 'family'.

"He's still your dad," His mother kept reminding him, as if it were something Blaine might forget. "If you don't go, you'll regret it later. I know it's hard to imagine when you're seventeen but someday you will. Maybe not today, maybe not even in a year's time! But one day you will."

Blaine wasn't so sure.

The flight attendant is now working the keyboard of her computer with a kind of ferocious intensity, punching away at the keys and snapping her gum. "You're in luck," she says, raising her hands with a little flourish, "I can get you on the ten twenty-four. Seat eighteen A. By the window."

Blaine's almost afraid to pose the question, but he asks it anyway: "What time does it get in?"

"Nine fifty-four," the attendant says, "Tomorrow morning."

Blaine pictures the delicate calligraphy on the thick ivory wedding invitation, which has been sitting on his cluttered desk for months now. The ceremony will begin tomorrow at noon, which means that if everything goes according to schedule – the flight and then customs, the taxis and the traffic, the timing perfectly choreographed – he'll still have a chance at making it on time. But just barely.

"Boarding will start from this gate at nine fifty-four," The attendant says, handing over the papers, which are all neatly bound in a little jacket, "Have a wonderful flight."

Blaine edges his way towards the windows and surveys the rows of drab grey chairs, most of them occupied and the rest spouting yellow stuffing at their seams like well-loved teddy bears. He props his backpack on top of her carry-on suitcase and digs for his cell phone, then scrolls through the contacts for his father's number. As the phone starts to ring his heart quickens; though his father stills calls fairly often, Blaine's probably dialled him only a handful of times. It's nearly midnight there, and when he finally picks up, his voice is thick, slowed by sleep or alcohol or maybe both.

"Blaine?"

"I missed my flight," he says, adopting the clipped tone that comes so naturally when talking to his father these days, a side effect of his general disapproval of him.

"What?"

"He sighs and runs his fingers through his hair as he repeats himself: "I missed my flight."

In the background, Blaine can hear Jasmine murmuring and something flares up inside of him, a quick rise of anger that he's forced to push aside for his father's sake. Despite the cheery, sugar-coated emails she's been sending him ever since his father proposed = filled with wedding plans and photos of their trip to Paris and pleas for Blaine to get involved, all signed with an overzealous 'xxoo' – it's been exactly one year and ninety-six days since Blaine decided that he really disliked her, he couldn't quite bring himself to hate her because it was, again, how he was raised.

"Well," his father says, "did you get another one?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't get in 'til ten."

"Tomorrow?"

"No, tonight," he says, "I'll be traveling by comet."

His father ignores his sarcastic comment. "That's too late. It's too close to the ceremony. I won't be able to pick you up," he says, and Blaine can hear Jasmine whisper something. "We could send your grandfather down to get you."

I'm old enough to look after myself Dad," Blaine says quickly, "I'm seventeen, I can find my own way to the church."

"I'm not sure, Blaine," His father sighs, "I mean, it's your first time in London, what if you get lost?"

"I won't get lost, Dad," Blaine replies, "I'll just get a cab and tell them where to go. Simple as that."

His father pauses and sighs, "Well, I suppose that would be alright, just call me when you land."

"Okay, I'll meet you at the church tomorrow. Hopefully I won't be too late."

"Alright," His father says softly, "I can't wait to see you."

"Yeah," he says, unable to bring himself to say it back to him. "See you tomorrow."

Blaine hangs up and starts looking around the room for somewhere to sit or something to do to take his mind off of the impending flight. For a long moment he just stands there like that, the phone still held tightly in his hand. The smell of butter from a nearby pretzel stand is making him feel slightly sick but it also reminds him that he hasn't eaten since this morning. He's been too busy worrying about everything to even _think _about food. He feels dizzy and he really wants to find a seat but the gate is choked with passengers who've spilled over from other areas of the terminal. It's the Fourth of July weekend and the weather maps on the TV screens are sowing a swirling pattern of storms blotting out a lot of the Midwest. There are people everywhere, and Blaine can't see an empty seat or even a wall to lean on from where he's standing. There are suitcases resting on empty chairs, families camped out around entire corners, random pieces of fast food rubbish.

When he spots an empty seat, he hurries in that direction, manoeuvring his way through the crowd with his dodgy little suitcase at his heels. Blaine makes it to the seat before anyone else could snatch it and he lets out a sigh of relief mixed with frustration. Outside the window, the sky is a dusky pink now, and the pinpricks of light that outline the airplanes are beginning to flicker to life. Blaine can make out his reflection in the glass, his gelled hair that was so perfectly styled when he left has become a little rumpled and the occasional curl has escaped. He's seated next to and middle-aged woman wearing a disgustingly bright, stripy sweater and young woman trying to sooth her restless infant.

_Three more hours, _he thinks, pulling at his scarf, then realises that there's no point in counting down the minutes to something you're dreading, it would be far more accurate to say two more days. Two more days and he'll be home again. Two more days and he can pretend that this never happened. Two more days and he'll have survived the weekend he's been dreading for what feels like years.

He readjusts his backpack that's sitting on his lap, realising a moment that he hadn't zipped it up all the way, and a few of her things tumble to the floor. Blaine swears under his breath as he goes to pick up his iPod and wallet, but when he goes to pick up the heavy black book that his father gave give, the boy across the aisle gets it first.

He glances briefly at the cove, raising one perfectly styled eyebrow before handing back to Blaine with a smile. Blaine's taken aback for a second, pausing slightly while he takes the boy's appearance in. He's looks about the same age as Blaine but he's a few inches taller, his chestnut brown hair making up about an inch of his height is styled perfectly. He's dressed in dark skinnies, a white, three-quarter length shirt and a dark grey vest that suits his body very well. His blue eyes are watching Blaine curiously as he waits for some kind of response which causes Blaine to blush and quickly take his book with a small, tired smile. Blaine turns deliberately towards the windows, just in case he might be thinking about striking up a conversation. Because Blaine really doesn't feel like talking right now, not even to someone as cute as he is. He doesn't feel like being here at all, actually.

The baby that's being held by the young mother next to him starts to cry loudly and Blaine seriously hopes he's not sitting next to her on the plane. Seven hours is a long time, too big a slice of your day to be left to chance. You wold never be expected to take a road trip with someone you didn't know, yet how many times has he flown to Chicago or Denver or Florida beside a complete stranger elbow to elbow, side by side, as the two of them hurtled across the country together? That's the thing about flying: you could talk to someone for hours and never even know their name, share your deepest secrets and never see them again.

The woman next to him with the crying baby seems to have run out of ideas to sooth her child so, as a kind of last resort; she takes out her breast and start to feed the baby. Blaine stands abruptly as her shoulder brushes against his, swinging his backpack onto one shoulder. Around him, the gate is teeming with people, and he looks out the window with a sad sigh, wishing he were outside right now. He's going crazy thinking about sitting here for three more hours, but the idea of dragging his suitcase around with him through the crowd is daunting. He edges it closer to his empty seat so that it might look reserved, then turns to the lady with the ridiculous sweater.

"Um excuse me?" He asks politely, "Would you mind watching my bag for me for a minute?"

"You're not supposed to do that," she says frowning at him.

"It's just for a minute or two," Blaine explains, but the woman simply gives her head a little shake, as if she can't bear to be implicated in whatever scenario is about to unfold.

"I can watch it," says the boy across the aisle, and Blaine looks at him and he's unable to speak again. He looks just as handsome as last time, well obviously, and his smile seems very warm and genuine as he looks at Blaine hopefully, his blue eyes twinkling in the artificial lights of the airport. Blaine's heart kind of dips unexpectedly as he looks at him, his eyes skipping from Blaine to the woman, whose lips are set in a thin line of disapproval.

"It's against the _law,_" the woman says under her breath, her eyes shifting over to where two bulky security guards are standing.

Blaine glances back at the boy who rolls his eyes and offers Blaine a sympathetic smile. "Never mind," Blaine sighs, "I'll just take it. Thanks anyway."

He gathers his things and makes his way past the lady, who barely moves her feet out of his way in time. He wanders around, dodging people here and there, not really sure of his destination. He's feeling restless and anxious about the flight and he just want to go home. Unfortunately that isn't an option right now, so instead he stops and looks around. He takes his backpack off and starts to fish around for his phone when he loses his grip and, once again, his belongings fall to the ground.

_You have got to be kidding me_, Blaine thinks, running a hand over his hair. By the time he gathers all his things again and reaches for his suitcase again, it's somehow no longer there. He spins around and is stunned to find the blue-eyed boy standing beside him, his own bag slung over his shoulder. Blaine's eyes travel down to where he's gripping the handle of his suitcase.

"What are you doing?" Blaine asks, blinking at him.

"Well, you look like you might need some help,"

Blaine just stares at him blankly.

"And this way it's perfectly legal," he adds with a grin.

Blaine stands there for a long moment, wondering what he could've done to have secured himself a porter. But the crowds are surging around them and his backpack is heavy on his shoulders, and the boy's eyes are searching his with something like loneliness mixed with hopefulness, like the very last thing he wants right now is to be left alone. And that's something that Blaine can understand too, so he smiles at the boy and nods in agreement. So with that the boy tips the suitcase forward on to its wheels and they begin to walk down through the crowded airport together.


End file.
